


Wubba Lubba

by Hay_Bails



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Caring Morty, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Suicide Attempt, Sad Rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:48:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hay_Bails/pseuds/Hay_Bails
Summary: Set immediately after "Auto Erotic Assimilation." Morty checks on his grandfather in the garage. Things don't go to plan.





	

            “Um… Rick?” Morty asked tentatively, stepping over a pile of shards. His grandfather’s body was still hunched uncomfortably over the worktable. Was he even breathing? Morty gulped, and poked his shoulder once. When Rick didn’t respond, he poked him again.

            “What the fuck do you want?” Rick croaked, still not moving.

            “Oh,” Morty said. “I-I was m-m-making sure you weren’t, y’know. Dead.”

            “Morty. I’m sixty. I died a long time ago.” Rick slowly sat up in his chair, banging his head on the strange three-pronged contraption above him. He glared at it halfheartedly. “Like an old vending machine. The light inside has broken but I still work.” He stood, placed his hands in his pockets, and stared through the open garage door. The weeds on the lawn, he noticed, had been thoroughly whacked.

            Morty, unsure of how to respond, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Rick, you’ve been in the garage for twenty-four hours.”

“So?”

“H-h-have you eaten anything?”

            Rick was uncomfortably sober. His stomach churned at the mention of food.

            “Yeah. Emma Watson’s pussy.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Infinite universes, infinite Ricks… it’s possible. Now, why don’t you run inside and jerk yourself off to Jessica’s yearbook photo from two years ago?”

            “R-r-rick!” Morty flushed a hot pink.

            “I don’t understand why you don’t just use this year’s photo.”

            “Hey!” Morty exclaimed. Rick turned his back to his grandson. “The one from two years ago has cleavage, okay?!”

            Rick scoffed. “I need a drink. Badly.” He rummaged around underneath his workbench and retrieved a half-full flask of purple liquid. He downed most of it in one go, belched, and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

            “Rick,” Morty whined petulantly.

            “Oh my god, _what?_ ”

            Morty looked at his grandfather – really looked at him – for the first time since yesterday. Rick’s hair had wilted, and wisps of light blue framed his face, which seemed to be sporting more wrinkles than usual. He looked old.

            “Rick,” he said again, a little more quietly.

            “Fuck off, Morty.” The command, though harsh, felt hollow. Rick took another swig of whatever it was, and sat at his workbench once more.

            “A-a-are you… y’know…” Morty rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.

            “Am I what, Morty? Am I sad? Is that it? Do you think I’m _sad_?” Rick picked up a screwdriver, thrust it into the nearest available slot on the vaporizer in front of him, and gave the handle a forceful turn. A metal plate groaned in protest.

            “No!” Morty shook his head. “I think you’re-“

            “Pathetic?” Rick’s eyebrows furled dangerously. “I’ll bet you think I’m _pathetic.”_ He gave the screw another turn. His workbench wobbled.

            “Stop it!” Morty whined, growing frustrated. “I think you’re-“

            “No!” Rick yelled. “You don’t get to decide what you _think_ I am, you, you brainless pile of cat puke. I don’t know how my genes, _my_ genes, spawned such a cowardly idiot. I’ll tell you what you are, Morty. You’re useless. Now get out of my lab!” When Rick turned the screwdriver handle again, the metal plate in front of him sprang free of its casing and clattered to the floor. In its wake, the garage was completely silent.

            “Wubba lubba dub dub, you dick,” Morty whispered, more out of shock than anger. His footsteps echoed across the garage floor, and when he slammed the door, Rick startled.

            “Wubba lubba dub dub…” he parroted, vision blurring as he stared at the metal plate lying impotently on the concrete.

            Somewhere outside, a bird chirped.


End file.
